I'm gonna keep this short, because I'm tired of complaining about J.J. Abrams, who will be directing Star Wars: Episode VII.

1.) Having the same man in charge of Star Wars and Star Trek creates a conflict of interest. This is like hiring the same marketing director for Pepsi and Coke. This is like employing the same head chef for the test kitchens of Burger King and McDonald's. This is like...I dunno, casting Ryan Reynolds as Deadpool and Hal Jordan.

2.) I think I've made my opinion of J.J. Abrams pretty darn clear. Those are hyperlinks, kids; don't be shy to click 'em.

3.) Star Trek (2009) was pretty much a Star Wars movie anyhow, so this should be a perfect fit.

I don't have it in me to really discuss this further. J.J. Abrams just makes me angry, and there is no one in Hollywood who makes me angry just by seeing their name attached to something. Disappointed, sure; uninterested in seeing the movie, sure. Angry? No. He's officially become the face of sci-fi for "the modern generation," and from what I've seen of his work, that means I can look forward to a few decades of movies so flashy that they almost make you forget how contrived the script is, how abrasive and unlikable the characters are, and how little the heart and style of a franchise that's not your own really matter.

But you know what? It's not just J.J. Abrams. It's the likes of Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, too. You know—the guys who co-wrote and/or produced The Legend of Zorro, Transformers, Cowboys and Aliens, and Star Trek? I'm sure you remember those movies—fancy action sequences, major plot points that get minimal or no explanation, comedic digressions that completely break the flow of the movie, characters who aren't so much complex heroes as walking personalities that save the day when the story calls for it...

The fact that Orci and Kurtzman did Watchmen, and I liked Watchmen, would seem to throw off the curve here. Except I didn't care much for the source material (respected it, but didn't like it—too dark and gritty for my tastes, for one thing), and the movie was a direct translation the graphic novel, minus almost everything I didn't like about it. In other words, the script was already written for them, and they just edited out some parts I wasn't so keen on; I already knew the story, so I could fill in any plot holes with what I remembered from the book; and the characters in Watchmen are supposed to be less-than-ideal heroes.

So maybe I'm not angry that J.J. Abrams is directing Star Wars. Maybe I'm angry that Star Wars—like Watchmen, for Orci and Kurtzman—is the kind of thing he should've been doing all along. And I can't help but think that someone else would've been tapped to direct Star Trek if Star Wars had gotten to Abrams first.

I just (literally, just a few minutes ago) finished reading Lee Strobel's book The Case for Christ, which takes a journalistic approach to examining the evidence for Jesus Christ as historical figure, God incarnate, and resurrected Lord. Strobel, a former atheist, interviews a series of high-profile scholars who discuss everything from the authenticity of the gospels to the psychological profile of Jesus. In part, the book is a recreation of Strobel's journey to faith, addressing the questions that had previously left him skeptical; in part, it's a beginner's handbook for anyone investigating the topic for themselves.

For me—raised Christian, studied religions in college, searching to solidify exactly what I believe--The Case for Christ was exactly what I had been looking for: a reinforcement of some things I knew or felt were true, and a starting point for an exploration of the points still in doubt or question. Strobel himself says it on page 270, in the conclusion of the book:

"Perhaps after reading expert after expert, listening to argument after argument, seeing the answers to question after question, and testing the evidence with your logic and common sense, you've found, as I have, that the case for Christ is conclusive....On the other hand, maybe questions still linger for you. Perhaps I didn't address the objection that's uppermost in your mind. Fair enough. No single book can deal with every nuance. However, I trust that the amount of information reported in these pages will at least have convinced you that it's reasonable—in fact, imperative—to continue your investigation."

That last part is crucial, and it's something I've believed for as long as I can remember: if there's even the possibility that any of the world's religions are true, then it's of chief importance that you figure out what to believe...and even once you've settled on something, to continue challenging and testing your beliefs for the rest of your life. Truth (capital T) should stand up to any scrutiny; even if your truth (lowercase t) should fall to devastating criticism, that doesn't automatically make your truth false—or that criticism Truth.

In other words, we're doomed to argue about religion until the Flying Spaghetti Monster comes to claim us all.

Religion, like politics, is a subject we humans don't seem to know how to discuss rationally. We can calmly disagree about TV shows, parenting styles, and fashion, but scuffles over religion ironically bring out the worst in us. Too often I've seen atheists categorically dismiss Christians as mentally deficient for believing in something they can't directly measure. Too often I've seen Christians hand out vicious judgment before hearing the other side of the story, as though Romans chapter 14 is just there for decoration. Instead of sharing our beliefs, understanding each other, and helpfully showing the other person the folly of their ways, we too often spit on the visitors to our ivory towers.

Having borrowed The Case for Christ, I went online to find a copy for myself and a copy to give to other people—given how helpful it was to me, and how accessible it is (complete with discussion questions at the end of each chapter), I figured it would be nice to have a spare that I could lend out to any religious searchers, or anyone who contends that you need to shut off your brain to believe in Christianity. Strobel makes it clear that men have been sentenced to death with less evidence than there is for the Biblical identity of Jesus; I think that's a compelling notion that makes for meaningful conversation, regardless of how much Strobel only skims the surface of the subject.

I was shocked to read the reviews of the book on Amazon. The recurring theme was, "Don't give this to an atheist, because they'll hate you." People blasted the book, some going so far as to say that, if this book reflects Strobel's journey to faith, then he wasn't much of an atheist to begin with to be converted so easily—that's not just a criticism of the book; it's a personal attack, and one that I would find offensive if it were leveled at me. While there are hundreds of positive reviews of the book, it's clear that the naysayers—at least, the ones whose comments I read—seem to object to the fact that this is The Case for Christ: A Journalist's Personal Investigation of the Evidence for Jesus, and not Lee Strobel Interviews Everybody in the World with an Opinion About Jesus and Concludes Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt that We Can't Agree on Anything.

I also found a book by Robert M. Price that's a direct response to this one, The Case Against The Case for Christ: A New Testament Scholar Refutes the Reverend Lee Strobel. The cover of the book is the same one Strobel uses, with the impression of a hand with the crucifixion nail hole in it, except it's giving a thumbs-down—so you can tell already this is going to be a polite, respectful disagreement. The book description reads as follows:

"Leading New Testament scholar Robert M. Price has taken umbrage at the cavalier manner in which Rev. Lee Strobel has misrepresented the field of Bible scholarship in his book The Case for Christ. Price exposes and refutes Strobel's arguments chapter-by-chapter. In doing so he has occasion to wipe out the entire field of Christian apologetics as summarized by Strobel. This book is a must-read for anyone bewildered by the various books published by Rev. Strobel."

Bear in mind that, as I was reading this description, I was still in that euphoric "I just read a very enjoyable, thought-provoking book that has helped open the door for me to start thinking seriously about my spiritual life again" mindset. Which promptly disappeared as soon as I got to the reviews, if not by the end of that description. I think one of the reviewers puts it best:

"Unfortunately, those who can most profit from exposure to this book are the ones least likely to read it."

Ooh! Ooh! I can tell you exactly why: Because, even before the reviewers start lambasting Strobel and praising Price, that book description is specifically targeting all those atheists I was warned not to buy The Case for Christ for. I might've been persuaded to read the book if it had read something like this:

"Millions of readers worldwide have seen the evidence presented by Rev. Lee Strobel in his book The Case for Christ, but how many have put that evidence to the test? Leading New Testament scholar Robert M. Price examines Rev. Strobel's arguments chapter-by-chapter, exposing dangerously flawed logic and inaccurate facts that misrepresent the field of Bible scholarship. This book is a must-read for anyone who has taken Rev. Strobel at his word, or who is bewildered by the various books he has published."

See, that would've gotten me interested. Instead, I'm looking at a book that sounds like a fair reexamination of Strobel's book, poisoned by raging personal bias. There's nothing wrong with writing a scathing rebuttal every now and again—and I'll reiterate that I haven't read this book, so I'm only going off of the description and the reviews—but I'm struggling to think of any work refuting Christianity or Christian literature that isn't laced with some sort of venom or smugness. The vibe I get from most counter-Christian arguments is not, "Hey, you're wrong, I'll show you why"; rather, it's more like, "FOOL! You know nothing of reality!" I don't know if pro-Christian arguments sound that way to other people (they probably do), but it seems counterproductive to craft a very intelligent, persuasive argument and completely ignore the sensibilities of the people you're trying to convince.

You know where I'm going from here? Other religions. I'm at the point in my study of Christianity where the questions I have yet to answer are the really complicated or contentious ones; before I spend any more time investigating the faith I grew up with, I want to apply the same critical eye to the rest of the world's religions (well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean).

If I call myself a Christian, I want it to be not just because I believe the evidence and arguments and it all feels right, but because I've looked at the evidence and arguments for other belief systems and found them unconvincing. I'd like to think I'm open-minded enough to give other religions, even atheism a fair chance—to give Truth a chance, wherever it may be found—and my next step is to take Strobel's approach to other beliefs. What do we know about Muhammad from historical records? How well have the sayings of the Buddha been preserved? How would a psychoanalyst describe L. Ron Hubbard? I'll do some investigative journalism of my own, and see where that takes me.

Whether Strobel's right on the money, woefully mistaken in every regard, or somewhere in-between, The Case for Christ is precisely what I needed to jump-start my stalled personal faith journey, and to spark my interest again in what is probably my favorite academic subject. Praise Zenithar, may I walk with the Prophets, thanks be to Pelor, and hallowed are the Ori.

Sometimes I wonder how much is too much when it comes to disclosing personal information online. Whether it's something as public as this blog or as private as Facebook (at least, the imaginary privacy-oriented Facebook I suspect most people think they're posting to), I tend to use the same amount of discretion in everything I share: that is, I tell you everything, and at the same time, nothing. If I think it'll facilitate a meaningful discussion, I'll talk about absolutely anything. If I think sharing something could potentially do more harm than good, I'll withhold it.

If I've been doing my job properly, a total stranger should have a vague ballpark of my age, be aware I have a wife, assume I work some sort of job, accept that I live on the moon but spend most of my time somewhere on the east coast of the US, and be able to explain in excruciating detail my thoughts and opinions on Star Trek, Mega Man, and a host of other geeky interests. Stalkers and hackers will always find a way to dig up more information if they want it badly enough, but I'm not in the habit of giving handouts—if you don't need to know my birthday or when I'll be out of the house, then you probably won't hear it from me.

That's part of the trouble, though—you probably won't hear it from me. You probably will hear it from somebody else. Suppose I'm out to dinner with some friends who take a picture of us with their cameras, and upload the photos to Facebook with a geographical location tag announcing that we are at this specific Denny's, come rob our houses before the check comes! Put enough of those location tags together on a map, and you can pretty much pinpoint where I live. Wait until somebody posts a photo album of "Nathaniel's X-tieth Birthday Party," and you've got my age and approximate birth date, too. We place an awful lot of trust in the global community to care about our personal information for the same reasons we do, and all it takes is one person—a total stranger, or someone you thought was a friend—to abuse that trust.

I think about celebrities--real celebrities, like, say, Carrot Top—who have virtually no privacy. Surely there should be no problem finding out where they live, what their phone number is, and what their computer password is likely to be. I'll bet there's a website somewhere that tracks every time Tom Cruise has the hiccups. With that kind of public visibility, how could anyone possibly keep a tight rein on their personal information?

I suppose it's comforting, in a way, to rarely hear about celebrities getting their Twitter account hacked or their trash getting sorted through by overzealous fans. Or maybe that happens all the time; I don't follow entertainment news.

Scary thought: Maybe it happens all the time, and nobody says anything because they're just used to it.

Either I'm not as much of a gamer as I used to be, or else the times, they are a-changin'. I've never been one to stray away from challenging games; I grew up on Mega Man, taught myself how to speedrun Metroid II, replayed all my first-person shooters on progressively higher difficulty modes, and turned games like Donkey Kong Country upside-down to reach 100% completion (and beyond) well before I had any idea you could easily find all the secrets on GameFAQs. Even when games belonged to a genre outside my area of expertise--Mario Kart 64 and Super Smash Bros. Melee come to mind—if I liked them enough, I'd find a way to overcome my ineptitude at racing, fighting, etc. and persevere until I got lucky and won something.

I started playing Street Figher X Mega Man last month. I lament the fact that it's a crossover game—I'm not a Street Fighter fan, and I've been annoyed at Capcom for being so fixated on continually attempting to smash its franchises together these past few years (namely, with Mega Man Xover and advertising Ryu and Arthur as the selling points of the canceled Mega Man Universe). All I've ever wanted out of Mega Man is a sequel every now and then that offers new bosses, music, levels, and weapons, and tries to improve or expand on its predecessor in some way. Create a spinoff series when you've got new stories to tell; bring a series to a satisfying conclusion when you've run out. Do whatever you like to the franchise; just stay true to the heart of the series and keep the continuity intact.

Well, Street Fighter X Mega Man simultaneously disregards all continuity, and yet feels more like a proper Mega Man sequel than the misguided MM8, the relentlessly retro MM9, or the annoyingly subversive MM10—and the weapons and challenges were the most consistently fun, familiar, and novel since as far back as MM5—and that's a rare combination, indeed. Despite the unwelcome crossover, SFXMM was everything I'd been craving in a Mega Man game since the late '90s, and I was eating up every flower-dodging, watermelon-kicking minute of it.

Then I got stuck.

One of the late-game bosses enjoys large periods of invulnerability—the obnoxious kind, where he doesn't even raise a shield or anything; you just inexplicably can't hurt him—and has an attack pattern that hones in on you without any apparent consistency about whether or not you can dodge it. Frustrating, to say the least, and the only strategy that ended up working was to get in his face and repeatedly kick him to death with Chun-Li's weapon, paying no attention whatsoever to your own health (because it's not like you can dodge anything anyway). I had to sacrifice an E-Tank, but at least I made it...after several Game Overs of trying to find a more professional solution.

Fatigued, I entered the stage with the boss rush. At least there was an E-Tank at the beginning of the stage; if nothing else, I could keep stockpiling them if I continued to Game Over, and I'd eventually win by superior health, if not by superior skill.

Turns out the E-Tanks don't regenerate when you Game Over. Unlike every other Mega Man game in history. And it turns out that two extra lives aren't enough to survive against eight consecutive bosses, even with health refills in-between, and even with using the right special weapons. After several tries, it just wasn't fun anymore. And if the previous stage's boss was any indication, I'd need all the E-Tanks I could get to survive the rest of the game. If I couldn't limp through the boss rush on extra lives and free health powerups alone, then I didn't want to make it through at all. Grumbling about the lack of a save or password feature, I shut off the game and went to bed.

When I finally came back to the game a few days ago, it was with a hint of trepidation. As a Mega Man fan, and as someone who can't check on his YouTube video comments without seeing a few requests for SFXMM a week, I felt almost obligated to at least beat the game. The trouble was...could I beat the game?

Nonsense. I'd just forced myself through the poorly executed Mega Man X7 not three months earlier; if I could press on through that 3-D debacle, I could make it through a much shorter game that actually felt like the games I grew up with. I did like the game, after all; replace Street Fighter with traditional robot masters, put in a save/password feature for struggling gamers who can't play through the whole thing in one sitting, and fix that one awful boss fight I was talking about, and you've got a new entry into my Top 5 list of favorite Mega Man games—and nobody gets on that list anymore.

So I navigated the initial eight stages a little more quickly, now that I knew what I was doing. I played pretty well in most stages, and suddenly got really bad at one or two that had been a breeze the first time. Still, I made it to that aggravating boss in a good amount of time, made a little bit of progress at figuring out a useful strategy, and ended up E-Tanking it anyhow. When the boss rush arrived, I worked out a boss order that would maximize my chances of staying alive, based on how much energy I was likely to have going into each fight, and how much I was likely to lose.

I got closer to defeating them all without an E-Tank. I was still two or three bosses short with every Game Over. I couldn't wrap my head around how I could almost perfect kill Chun-Li at the end of her stage, and then suddenly run into virtually all her attacks in the rematch—she was supposed to be my easy boss, when I was running low on health.

After one too many tries, I threw out all strategy and just started burning through E-Tanks when I needed them. If I didn't make it to the end, at least I'd know what was in store after the boss rush, and could stop having dreadful visions of possible post-rush bosses like the Wily Machine in MM9 or the Wily Capsule in MM7.

I beat the boss rush, and proceeded to smash M. Bison on my first or second attempt, buster only, with just one E-Tank that I probably wouldn't have needed with a little more practice. Hooray, victory, roll credits.

Had I really been that close all along? To think, I'd been making things harder on myself by holding myself to a standard I only use for Mega Man games I'm already good at.

I then sat down tonight to play The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask. I've already expained that I'm not a big Zelda fan, but I'm still interested in experiencing more of this series that so many of my friends are Cuckoo for. (See? I know enough to make a pun.) Majora's Mask is the one I remember everyone complaining about when I was younger, and keep hearing people praise now that I'm older. The last few times I went to start a new game, I almost chose Majora's Mask, but always went with something distinctly more my style, such as Strider and Mr. Robot. This time, I was coming off of a strenuous week and just wanted something I could casually sit in front of the TV with that still had some substance. Remembering Ocarina of Time's open-ended linearity (that is, you wander around an area until you find the one person, place, or item that opens up the next area), I finally popped in Majora's Mask and settled in for a leisurely night of adventuring.

I was starting to like the new abilities, more complex storyline, more interesting characters, and places to explore.

And then a moon fell on me.

Something like two hours of gameplay, gone in an instant. All because I talked to a scarecrow who made me dance all day, tried out two minigames, and got lost navigating Clock Town because the camera is zoomed in so closely that I can barely distinguish one wall from another. Oh, and THERE'S NO SAVE FEATURE. In order to save, I need to reset the doomsday clock by playing a song on my ocarina. A song I haven't learned yet. On an ocarina that was stolen. By a guy who's on top of the clock tower. The clock tower I can't get to because all the workers in the town ran away and didn't construct a ramp for me.

I'm sorry; I was too busy getting my bearings and doing a cursory sweep of the town for anything interesting and useful, so that when someone inevitably told me to deliver this credenza to the mayor in under two minutes to win a watch fob that I would trade to someone else for a cucumber that I'd need to unlock the next area where I'd find a spring-loaded javelin that would unearth a staircase made of fish guts to the top of the clock tower so I could use a newly discovered ham cannon to beat the kid who stole my ocarina and turn back time so I could save my freaking game, I'd know exactly where to go.

I've played a Zelda game or two; I know how this works.

I consulted a walkthrough: by the end of the first day, I should have reassembled a fairy, chased small children around the town, and found a gigantic plant in the middle of town that's necessary to enter the clock tower, and I swear does not exist.

I wasn't upset that I got smooshed by a creepy, ugly moon. I didn't even mind so much that I lost virtually all of my progress because you CAN'T SAVE YOUR GAME—frankly, I was surprised that I met with a terrible fate and didn't have to replay the entire game—just everything I'd been through after the first five minutes of actual gameplay. No, I was upset because (a) this was not the leisurely game I'd signed up for tonight, and (b) the game forces you to speedrun it before you have any idea what's going on.

One of my biggest gripes with Scurge: Hive was having to rush through solving puzzles in low-visibility areas nonstop for the entire game, and having 72 hours (minutes, really) to guess at what minigames, townsfolk requests, and trading sequences are immediately important in Majora's Mask is pretty comparable—with the key difference being that, in Scurge: Hive, you didn't need to play for an hour and a half before unlocking your first save point. I would've been just as upset with Street Fighter X Mega Man if, instead of getting stuck at the boss rush, I had to restart the game because I died twice on Blanka, missed an E-Tank in Dhalsim's stage, and saved Rose's stage for last.

Majora's Mask saddles you with a simple task, gives you three days to accomplish it, and then expects you to instinctively know where to go, what to do, and how much time to budget, even with the task getting more complicated every time you talk to someone. Do I, the player, know where to go, what to do, and how much time to budget now? Yes. I know to go to my N64, remove the Zelda cartridge, and make time to play any other game instead.

It's not that Zelda is too hard—now that I'm more familiar with the layout of Clock Town and know the first few main things to accomplish, I shouldn't have any problem accomplishing in one day what took me three days before. The thing is...I don't really want to. I didn't really want to go back to SFXMM, either; the core gameplay was fun, but I was almost offended by the difficulty in some spots—I'd paid my dues and put in my time as a youngster; I simply shouldn't have to try too hard to beat a Mega Man game anymore, right? I've earned the right to relax. Or so I told myself subconsciously.

Majora's Mask is the proverbial bomb that broke the Dodongo's back, so to speak. I went in knowing I'd be on a timer, and I completely bypassed anything and everything that looked like optional material unless it looked fun and/or easy to complete, because I knew the constant time challenge would annoy me (and I never get 100% completion in Zelda games anyhow), and I still lost—even after consulting a walkthrough and following it to the letter for the last day and a half before the lunar landing. I don't know what you want from me, game; you won't let me play by my rules, and I'm punished for trying to play by yours.

After discovering halfway through Final Fantasy VIII that it really wasn't worth all the time I'd put into it, I started putting in a minimal amount of effort to beat it. I could still recoup some of my losses by marking it off my Backloggery and having another mainstream game I could speak knowledgeably about. It took me an hour and a half to get to that point with Majora's Mask, but I'm still burned out on timed challenges from Scurge: Hive, and not enough in love with Zelda to push myself through it like I did with SFXMM.

Sure, I've played Majora's Mask. I fell off a horse, got turned into a scrub, and ran into a bunch of walls. The ending was depressing, but Link's not much of a hero in that game, so I don't feel so bad; with all that time he wasted dancing with scarecrows and chasing children with chickens off of rooftops, he deserved to have somebody drop a moon on him.

Maybe I am just as much of a gamer as I've always been—maybe I've played one too many games like VVVVVV that make your progress count for something, and would rather spend my time overcoming new challenges than getting hung up repeating the old ones. Life's too short to play Groundhog Day with a game you're not totally sold on. I've got a Backloggery full of games I want to play; not just ones I feel obligated to try, or suspect will be more educational than fun.

Nothing says I won't come back tomorrow for another shot at hunting down my stolen ocarina. Nothing says I will, either. I just spent $3 on Good Old Games buying Conquest of the New World to rekindle some nostalgia from when I was younger, and after playing and failing at the last part of the tutorial, I've realized I have other, similar games I'd rather spend my time on. Are they better games? Not necessarily. But for everything Conquest has to offer, and for as much as I enjoyed it at the time, I'd take Civilization III over Conquest in a heartbeat, every time. After years of being a gamer, I've found that Conquest's level of micromanagement is a little more than I care for...and neither the interface nor the graphics have aged well. It's not that I lost on the tutorial; it's that I've had my jolt of nostalgia, and now I'm ready to play something that I can enjoy for what it is, and not for what I want it to be.

Maybe I'll see if my wife would like to sit in on another session of New Super Mario Bros. Wii.

Well, this is strange. After more than four years of co-blogging on Exfanding Your Horizons, I've got a blog of my own. No mission statement; no posting schedule; no self-imposed limits about how much Mega Man is too much. Total freedom.

Not that I've ever felt restricted writing for Exfanding. The way I look at it, there's a place for everything I want to write. Anything related to video games that's more for an audience than it is for me, I submit to GameCola. All other manner of geekery goes to Exfanding. Anything else outside the realm of my fandoms and hobbies (or anything personal, or anything especially mundane) typically goes into my private journal, unless I think there's a good story or message to it that's better shared with the public, in which case I find a way to make it work on Exfanding.

Realistically, I don't need a personal blog at this juncture—but my co-blogger on Exfanding has been busy with other endeavors for the last four months, and in his absence, what has always been a team effort has been gradually turning into my personal blog. For now, this is just a way to keep writing without altering the identity of a blog that's only half mine to begin with. Once Exfanding returns from hiatus, we'll see where things stand; perhaps a personal blog will be a nice addition to my normal writing rotation. A catch-all, if you will, for anything that doesn't fit as well anywhere else. We'll see.