Psychonauts was my favorite videogame of 2005. At its core, it's a basic 3D platformer with a silly premise: a summer camp full of psychically gifted grade-schoolers is terrorized by a thief who makes off with his victims' brains. What makes the game so special is its level design. As Raz, the game's protagonist, you're something of a psychic spelunker, and you use your telepathic abilities to explore the minds of several of the camp's quirky denizens. Each level has unique visuals, puzzles, and mechanics that are appropriate to the personality of the individual whose psyche you're invading. The game's story is warm and genuinely funny, which is a rarity in videogames.

I have very fond childhood memories of Alone in the Dark, a 3D adventure game that was created before 3D had really made its way into the videogame mainstream. People are often quick to point out that Alone in the Dark is the precursor to the survival horror genre popularized by the Resident Evil series, and that's true: Alone in the Dark was using dramatic camera angles and creepy creatures to scare gamers long before they visited Raccoon City. But while Resident Evil's story was informed by campy zombie movies, Alone in the Dark drew inspiration from the far more unsettling stories of H. P. Lovecraft. I played through the game with a friend -- we were in middle school at the time, and we'd have sleepovers where we'd stay up late, taking turns on the keyboard, playing until we were too scared to sleep anyway.

Five-finger punch is a favorite non-digital game that can be played anywhere and requires no equipment aside from you and a friend (or sibling). The rules are simple: you alternate between punching your opponent in the arm, and getting punched by them, until one of you gives up. The catch is that the distance between your fist and their arm can be no more than the maximum distance between the pinky and thumb of your non-punching hand. Since you don't have a lot of space to build up power behind your punch, you have to be very precise with where you land your blows: repeated, solid hits on the shoulder muscle can help secure an early victory, and may also render your opponent incapable of hitting back with their full strength. I grew up with three brothers, and this game was a favorite pastime on long car rides. For some reason, parents seem to be less fond of this game than do their offspring.

Angband is a no-frills adventure game whose devotees are often said to be masochistic. The game, which uses Tolkien's Middle Earth as the basis for its narrative content, requires that players dedicate weeks or even months leveling up their avatars in preparation for the end-game boss battle. Precision and conservative play is a must, as a single unlucky misstep will often cause death -- and in Angband, death is a permanent state. There are no savegames to fall back on, no "undo" command, no resurrection spell... losing your Angband hero is a non-negotiable event, and is comparable to losing your senior thesis to hard drive failure and realizing that you forgot to back up. It's inaccurate, then, to say that Angband players are masochistic, as no pleasure can be derived from watching hours and hours of work evaporate in the caustic breath of an ornery Elder Dragon. So what is it about the game that makes this agony worthwhile? It's certainly not the graphics (Angband is rendered entirely in ASCII), nor is it the sound (save for your computer's "alert" beep, the game has no audio to speak of). Angband is like a gamer' version of eXtreme sports: victories in the game are so satisfying precisely because of the danger involved in achieving them. Few other electronic games are capable of producing the tension, the incredible highs, and the brutal lows that Angband does.