Texas, USAJust keep breathing. I just had three teeth pulled a few days ago and I can bare able to open my jaw to eat, let alone do streams or gaming. As bad as it is now, everything you've already felt is gone and done with, and with every breath, you're that much closer to healing. Oh, and spongebob makes everything better.
Friggin sideways teeth. Look at that lazy bum on the right taking a nap.
Here's a good example for ya: https://www.speedrun.com/hm64
Literally every time I've beaten his high score, he swoops in, studies my new strategy, then plays it over and over until he beats my time. If anyone takes the top spot in any category, it's usually lost within a couple of days.
EDIT: Emulators are hidden by default (long story), so you'll have to show emulators manually to see all the submissions
I play a game called "Operation Neptune" where you can move faster around the map by strategically "dying" (it's a children's learning game, so you can't really die).
That said, I'm pretty sure there are some games out there that require you to die. Not in like a "Red Dead Redemption" / "Halo Reach" / "LA Noire" / "Bioshock Infinite" kind of way, but there's at least one game I know of where dying is required to access the area to upgrade your character. I don't remember the name of it though...
@ShikenNuggets said this is an impossible question to answer in a way that everyone will be happy about, but I'd like to try:
What stands out to me about this situation is whether or not your setup allows you to make more inputs with fewer button pushes than the original. In a game like Super Mario Galaxy, a lot of the competition is about how quickly you can input a series of actions in proper timing. Minimizing the number of button presses over the course of the game makes a whole lot of difference over the course of a run. If you are simply wanting to add a different input for the shaking mechanism, this doesn't lower the number of inputs you need to finish a run. It starts to cross the line when you begin to replace multiple button presses or sequences of button presses with single button presses that are not available to all players.
Physical handicap or not, the question you should ask is whether your modification of the controller allows you to make fewer inputs or input at a faster rate than a normal controller would. That seems to be where the line is drawn and why turbo controllers are generally banned- they allow a single button push to emulate many rapid button pushes. It allows certain players to make fewer inputs to get the same result in ways that other people can't. If number of inputs is a limiting factor, this gives players using a turbo controller an advantage that is not accessible by the entire community.
Whether or not an advantage is considered "unfair" depends largely on whether or not it is accessible by the entire community and can be repeated by any player.
Like it was stated above, however, the reasoning behind why certain mods are banned and rejected changes on a case-by-case basis. Some games come bundled with a turbo controller and there's no reason to ban the controller that is meant to be used with the game. This site covers games at just about every end of a spectrum too large for any one person to comprehend, which is why we cannot make site-wide rules- there is ALWAYS an exception.
You could try saying "no". That's always an option.
PSA: "NO." is a complete sentence; you don't need to say "no, but maybe..." or give some reason. "No." is enough in itself.
If anyone can do the thing, then you can do the thing; it just might take a little more time and effort than you first thought.
I'm genuinely curious about how much text we can enter before it cuts it off, or if there's a limit at all..
Hey, this whole "school" thing seems to be something we all have in common, but somehow so completely different. When I was in middle school, we all looked forward to the rolly cart with a TV, and when I went back as a teacher, everyone looked forward to the rolly cart full of ipads. Super weird how the same experience can be so different. For some perspective, I just turned 30, but I'll give you a glimpse of my first year of high school way back in the 2000s:
In addition to the core academic curriculum, my high school also required every student to sign up for some kind of "afternoon activity". No exceptions. They made it abundantly clear during freshman orientation that if we didn't choose an afternoon activity, an afternoon activity would be assigned to us, and it would not be something that we enjoyed. There was a collective groan from the entire freshman body. It was kind of annoying, but at least they were allowing us to choose our form of punishment.
My immediate choice was soccer, the the fall sport I played every year in middle school. It was what I was most familiar and comfortable with, but I didn't see it in any of the columns. The list of sports was alphabetical, so I couldn't even claim to have missed it. I knew where it should be, but it wasn't there. With my one hope shot down, I sat down with a pen and read through the rest of my choices.
I struck down many of them immediately. I'd rather be on toiled scrubbing duty every day than do something like wrestling or cheerleading oh God please no. I crossed out anything that required public speaking and anything that seemed like a trap for luring in unsuspecting freshmen, including the suspiciously vague "Service".
When my pen stopped marking things out, most of the ones remaining were sports of some kind, some of which I'd never even heard of before. What in the world is "lacrosse"? Is that French for something? And "fencing"? Do you mean the white picket ones or are we talking chain link here?
I felt very much like Harry Potter conferring with the sorting hat. This was the beginning of my high school career; I could take my life in any direction, but like most people at fifteen years old, I had no idea what my passions were. I had no idea if I would like writing or drawing or acting because I'd never tried any of those things. I marked out the things I didn't know, eliminating all but three options. The choices left were joining the staff of the school's newspaper, the recycling program, or the swimming program- the only autumn sport that I had any sort of competence in.
After a moment to think about it, I went with swimming because I was the most familiar with it. I knew how to swim and even competed in the recreational league a little bit. I reasoned that I wouldn't necessarily stand out, and I had no interest in standing out in any way.
I was among twelve scrawny freshman that signed up for swimming as the required afternoon activity. On the first day, it was readily obvious who was new and who wasn't, and we stood segregated from the more senior swimmers.
Before we even entered the pool area, the swimming coach informed us that this was not swimming lessons, and that anyone who did not know how to swim would have to sign up for a different afternoon activity. Three people sauntered away, and the rest of us glanced around at the others nervously. I had no idea that anyone took swimming this seriously, and it seemed that I wasn't the only one.
As we entered the pool area, we learned very quickly that there was a pecking order. The highest numbered lanes were for the serious swimmers, usually the upperclassmen who were among the best in the state. The middle lanes were for the up and coming swimmers, but most of these guys had been swimming in the private leagues since they were old enough to get into a pool. The lowest two lanes, including one lopsided, slightly larger one designated "lane zero" belonged to the new kids.
We all shed our t-shirts and awkwardly stood at the edge of our designated lane waiting for instructions as the other swimmers headed off to the locker room. After about fifteen minutes, the regulars began emerging, decked in the latest swim gear. Their sleek suits and mirrored goggles were almost as intimidating as their effortless displays of six-pack abs and rippling muscle. They each silently shook their heads as they strutted past our huddled mass of overweight freshmen in baggy gym shorts.
We stood at the water's edge in a confused mass as the coach drew out some kind of mathematical code on a marker board for the other, more experienced swimmers. The swimmers nodded, snapped on their goggles, and set off in synchronized groups. When they were all off and taken care of, the coach came over to deal with us. He didn't say anything, but I could feel the dismay in his eyes as he examined our unpolished group and I felt a bit of self-awareness of my own scrawny, slightly overweight self.
Instead of the complex marker board equation, he gave us a rather basic set to gauge our abilities. There was no time limit; we were simply to take fifteen seconds break between each set. It sounded simple enough in theory, but I'd never swum so far in my entire life. After about four laps, the fatigue started to set in and it didn't let up. I've felt the burn before, but the limited accessibility of air was far worse than anything else. I did backstroke any chance I got, gasping for air the entire length of the pool.
My muscles began disobeying orders as my hands slapped the water and my body sagged, making it even harder to pull myself forward. When I looked up after reaching each wall, the swim coach's expectant eyes were always on me, so I kept pushing myself to go one more lap. By the end of practice, I could barely pull myself out of the water, and I wasn't the only one. There were some who didn't even make it through the entire set, and even fewer who showed up the next day. By the end of the week, our group of twelve dropped to four.
Of the three that remained, all of them were Asian. They were constantly babbling to each other in some foreign language, which was fine with me. They generally left me alone, and I liked it that way. Though we never talked, we formed some habitual, unspoken rules. They always allowed me to go first, not because I was necessarily the fastest, but because I was the most steady. I kept a constant pace and could always push myself to do one more, and I think that kept them going as well.
Though I learned to hate my swimming coach because of the rigorous practices he represented, there are plenty of things that I give him a lot of credit for. One of these is that as long as a person was trying, he gave that person as much respect as he did to even the most experienced swimmers. If someone took ten minutes to finish a lap, my coach would challenge him to do it in nine minutes and forty-five seconds this time. He always gave us just enough to push us, and our constant effort earned his respect. We weren't the superstars flying by us just a few lanes over, but after only a few months, we were noticeably better.
In time, we also began to learn the practice patterns. Thursdays were known as "stroke day" because it was the day of the week that practices usually revolved around a certain stroke. My coach must have been in a good mood this particular Thursday, because he ordered us to warm up with a 500 butterfly before briefly stepping into his office. It was a joke, of course, but my coach had a way of being sarcastic without changing his demeanor.
"Was he being serious?"
I looked around, trying to figure out where the voice came from. The Asian who usually went behind me asked again, and it startled me. I'd never heard him speak English before, and it felt almost as if one day, the family dog looked up from his bowl and suddenly asked which brand of dog food you happened to be buying. It threw me off, because not only was it perfect English, but it was a completely normal dialect. I'd never heard any of them speak a single word of English, and I felt a little bad for probably being racist. I assured him that it was probably a joke, and that was the first time that I spoke with Min Soo Kim.
After the initial breaking of silence, we spoke more often. I was still usually quiet, but I would respond if he talked to me and would sometimes comment to him about how daunting a particular set looked or how awesome it was to have it all behind us. I learned that their babbling was Korean, and that there was, in fact, two very distinctly different "Korea"s. The four of us were never at a level where we could compete with the upperclassmen, but we eventually got comfortable enough in the water that we could at least compete with each other.
In meets, we weren't the best on the team, but we had our place. We weren't fast enough to earn the top spots, but that wasn't our fight.
Every team seemed to have stragglers like us, and this was our battle. While our teammates fought for first and second, we fought for fifth and sixth. Though we didn't earn as many points, the differential is comparable. Second place and fifth place is more points than first place alone, and the upperclassmen knew it. Despite their hazing rituals and superior attitudes, they eventually came to somewhat respect our continued efforts.
Soon, winter break was upon us, which meant the school would be closing. The dorms were also closing, so Min Soo Kim would have to go back home overseas after exams. However, our biggest meet was in February, which made December and January a crucial season for training. Several weeks out of the water meant months of physical backsliding, and it wouldn't be very much fun for me either if my number one competitor and motivation suddenly lost all his conditioning. I mentioned this to my mother after she picked me up one day. In response, she asked why he couldn't just take the unused bed in my room, and that's how Min Soo Kim ended up staying at my house over the winter break.
I learned a lot about North Korea and South Korea that winter, but I also learned just as much about how underage Asians can get into "R" rated movies. Approaching the kiosk, he pointed to a "Gangs of New York" poster, and, with a hilariously racist Asian accent, said "two ticket, please". Predictably, the lady in the booth asked him to show his ID. He gave her a blank stare for a moment, then leaned up the speaker and held up two fingers, repeating, "two ticket, please". The lady asked for ID again, and he shook his head, repeating the request again. This charade continued for a few more rounds before the ticket lady finally gave in and just gave him the tickets.
It was awesome.
Finding the motivation to go to practice was hard enough after a full day of classes, but it was even harder when you were sitting in your comfy chair at home in the middle of a marathon of your favorite television show. Alone, it might have been a different story, but we pushed each other to do better at practice, and we pushed each other to do better outside of practice. I don't think we missed a single practice that break.
Neither of us got even close to scoring any points at the state meet, but we had our own goals. Simply qualifying to take part in a meet held by the second fastest swimming state in the country is no small feat, but we both managed to do it by the deadline in our respective strokes, a thing we likely would not have done if we hadn't motivated each other all winter.
Min Soo Kim was a senior and graduated that spring. He went off to Carnegie Mellon, and I haven't heard from him since. As much as I would like to find him again, there are a million "Min Soo Kim"s out there, and I wouldn't even know where to start.
I've recently begun to use an actual N64 rather than an emulator, and the first and biggest thing I've noticed is that all my muscle memory is complete garbage. I had all the angles and timing down with arrow keys, and it just doesn't translate to an analog stick. I used "Z" and "X" for "A" and "B", and the order happens to be reversed on the controller.
I've found that input delay can be negated with a capture card and splitter, though it does require that up-front cost.
The biggest advantage I've found to using a console over an emulator is that you don't get into any disputes about how accurate your emulator is to the real thing. To be fair, in the game I run, there is almost always a difference between the unpause time on various emulators and the unpause time on a console, so it is actually a problem for the game I run.
WRs can often look like that, especially when we just jump right to the top run of an old favorite game. I've been here a while, and I still feel that way sometimes jumping into a game I thought I was pretty good at. Each game has its own unique characteristics and runners, but one thing we share is that we approach games differently, almost objectively.
One of the paradigms here is that there's no such thing as a random number. Every number is calculated from something, and a lot of communities have dug deep into where these random numbers come from and how we can play so these numbers are calculated more favorably. In one of the games I run, there's a one in ten chance that a necessary event will occur, and we've found that the game makes the decision based on the precise amount of time that elapses from power-on to starting the event day in-game. Though the margin is absurdly narrow, we can get the number we want by correctly timing this in-game action.
Sometimes you see something that looks like a one-in-ten-thousand chance, and it turns out to be just that. As in, someone has literally played the same game ten thousand times over the course of an indeterminable amount of time and happened to get it just right precisely one time, and that's the one on display. What you don't see is the other 9,999 failed attempts, which makes it look insanely lucky out of context.
If there's something totally weird happening, I'm sure you're not the only one who is wondering what's going on. Bring it up in the game's forum, and you'll likely get a better answer there. We don't really keep secrets here and most communities welcome newcomers.
Oh gosh SMB1... It's fun and easy to learn until 8-1. A couple of months ago, a few of us thought we could learn it in a week, but we all ended up stuck on 8-1 for an hour. I think someone eventually beat 8-2, but most of us just gave up.. Good luck!
@Liv You bring up a very good point about the submitter's responsibility to "sell" the game in question.
To submitters- the site's admin's have no obligation to accept any game. It is important to understand that the submission is called a "request" for a reason. They don't owe you anything. This is how the real world works, from convincing employers to hire you to getting someone to buy a product you're selling. If your game has value, then it is your responsibility to convey that value to the person who is accepting or denying your request.
If a game is denied, don't blame the admins. Communication is a two-way street. If you truly feel that a game deserves to be on this site, a game request denial is just as much your fault for not properly communicating the game's value. Most games don't require much, so this step is generally fairly easy, but the closer your game is to the line drawn in the sand, the more effort you'll have to put into your argument. How much do you want it?
The admins are people too; normal, rational people. They don't wake up in the morning thinking "oh boy! I can't wait to reject a bunch of games!" On the same note, the rules are there for a reason. We don't have a distinct list of what is and what isn't allowed because there will always be exceptions to that rule. It's just not that simple.
Linking a Wikipedia page isn't a necessity; it is a tool that works well for determining notability. If a game doesn't have a Wikipedia page, consider creating one. Yes, you can do that (though Wikipedia has a VERY clear definition of what is "notable" and what is not*) but that's why this site uses the presence of a Wikipedia page to help determine whether or not to include the game. It's not a requirement- it's just a very good tool.
The complaint that the SR site has a monopoly on the community mirrors the old fable of the ant and the grasshopper. Insisting that your game should be included is akin to the grasshopper- who has done none of the work- complaining that it is unfair that the ant has so much food and he must share with everyone else who did none of the work.
The response "create your own community" may sound like a regurgitated answer, but to be fair, it is only because it is a very regurgitated question. The askers always seem to want a quick, easy solution, and the answer given- though correct and helpful- is not the answer they want to hear. I think one of the problems is entitlement- nobody seems to want to do the work to get the reward. If you put in the work to create an established community, you can use this to help sell your game's notability. Problem solved.
- Wikipedia's rules for Video Game Notability: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Notability_(video_games)
Many of my first runs didn't have sound at all because OBS doesn't pick up default audio on Mac. There are times where mandating audio makes sense and times where audio doesn't really matter, but there's isn't enough information about your situation and reasoning in your initial question- and as of this post, you don't currently have any runs submitted for reference- to give you an answer.
Just reading through this thread and all this talk about self-verification got me thinking about what it would look like if someone self-rejected. I just picture this mod submitting a run, then immediately hitting the "reject" button like "yeah this can't be accepted. There's definitely cheaty bits right there.. and I know they're cheaty bits because it was me that did the cheaty bits so it's pretty obvious. Anyways, rejectamundo!"
When I play guitar hero sessions with my sister, we have this ritual where we go get a bag of sun chips so by the time we get to the hard songs, our fingers are all greased up and move easily from one color to the next.
So I suppose it depends on your game and individual needs :-)
It probably does look kind of strange, doesn't it? You're right- when I go to the menu, I'm to restarting the game. The music stutters and starts over and the sprites refresh, but the background doesn't change as you might normally expect. The reason is that there's no definitive "starting" spot; in any new game, your character will be placed in the position where he was when the last game ended. An alternative to hitting "restart" is allowing the burglars to wander through the house and catch you, but the result is the same- you'll just have to go through the ending scenes first. Check it out here: https://classicreload.com/home-alone.html
Beating a children's video game in one sitting. 8.5 hours of Harvest Moon 64. Much rejoicing afterward
https://www.speedrun.com/Stunt_cycle Stunt Cycle was released in 1976 for the Atari 2600
(However there are other games with earlier release dates listed, but it's bogus data. For example, see: https://www.speedrun.com/coffeekid
I thought maybe this was one of those games that had its own, more popular, fan site outside of the SRC community, but it looks like that's not the case. Is there a discord server for this game? I'd be interested in jumping in. I love this game, but I've never considered speedrunning it until recently.
The hat trick is a pretty neat idea. I think it's a good compromise to balance the luck. I didn't know there were rules for the thing spawns, but if there are, players shouldn't be punished for having more knowledge of the game.
I would be most interested in doing Adventure Mode runs, but disagree with requiring showing the world preset for them I don't remember if I saw the requirement in the thread above or on the site itself, but I don't think the presets affect Adventure Mode maps and it would just be a hassle to restart the map and find Maxwell's door every single time just to show the list of presets.
A note about the layout: because there are so few runs so far, I think that the board would look a bit cleaner if "character" was just another input option like time or console. It's how the SSBM board handles all the characters, and unless we eventually find out that one character is much more broken than the others, I think it makes sense to do it that way for this game too. At least for now. See here: https://www.speedrun.com/ssbm#Classic
