I’ll start with the obvious: this is a wonderful game. I love that it’s indie, DRM-free, full of physics, and that one becomes so emotionally attached to the adorable, delicious Goo. (Say “Delicious Goo” out loud – it’s a lot of fun). Aesthetically, this is a beautiful, detailed game: a bit Seussian (more stripes would help), a bit “dark wacky” by way of Tim Burton, and with some of the best accordion music I’ve heard lately.

I also love that the game was created nearly in total by only two people, both Carnegie-Mellon graduates. Apparently, most of the work was done on laptops in coffee-shops – an enviable way to write games, and a far cry from the EA Widows.

But I’ll admit that as much fun as I had with World of Goo, it didn’t quite live up to my admittedly-high expectations. The game failed for me in one very small, ultimately important way: a lack of cohesion.  Honestly, these two game developers have so much to say about consumerism and corporate society and technology and the cult of the young and who knows what else…. I felt like their ultimate message was nearly incoherent, more a collection of witticisms and sly, sideways references than an actual point or message. Very much in the same vein as Braid, but with Jonathan Blow’s game, I found more substance the deeper I looked. Here, despite my worries about where my beloved Goo is actually going once I’ve sent it up the pipe, I’m not convinced that something has been said. And that’s unfair of me. Not all games need to have a clear point or a deeper meaning. Maybe pointing out the hectic, everyday existence of a mall-driven, beauty-obsessed culture is enough for this game. But just pointing it out isn’t the same as making a statement, or making me think: my reaction at game’s end was literally, “Yes, okay. And?”

Again, it’s a fantastically fun game. It’s absolutely worth playing. But it feels to me like the harbinger of things to come. I’ll be interested to see what these two developers come up with next, after they’ve grown up a little bit. They’ve gone after some easy targets here, particularly for an indie game audience. I can’t wait to see how they tackle the hard stuff.

Here’s another one I’m surprised to still be playing. I’ve been calling it the “anti-Tetris”, given the way it deals with individual puzzle pieces, and I’ve clocked an embarrassing number of hours on my save file.

It’s the collection angle that appeals to me, I think. I rarely play anything but the non-challenge sequences, the ones in which you can unlock new songs, “skins” and levels, and once I’ve finished a challenge sequence (there are 3) I rarely return to it. It’s possible that once I’ve unlocked everything, I’ll never touch the game again.

Mentally, it’s a great way to wind down. Lumines II takes effort but no real thinking, meaning I can mentally focus on other things while playing through a sequence. It’s an opposite effect to my experience at the symphony: there, I’m forced to sit and listen and quiet down (a rare occurrence), enough that the music has a chance to be inspiring. Lumines II doesn’t inspire me but it does relax me, something Significant Tim tells me is equally necessary. He’s been trying for years to explain to me the importance of winding down; I’ll assume he approves of Lumines II.

I’ll also say that this is one of the few games I will play while simultaneously doing something else, usually watching television. Tim’s love of cheesy scifi (oh, and my own, grudgingly) means that there’s often some fluffy, fun, but ultimately simplistic series in our queue, and at times I’d rather watch while solving timed puzzles than concentrate on a show that by itself can’t hold my interest. It’s become an unofficial benchmark – Battlestar and the Wire require my full attention, but I can’t sit through Eureka unless I’m multitasking. Is there such a thing as a Lumines snob?