Over time, however, the jokes elicited fewer laughs; the tropes that provided characterization (such as it was, as it began to veer wildly to fit the "plot") for the cast became clearer and more frayed at the edges; and the absurdity of spending thirty minutes in order to hear a joke I've heard countless times before in the hopes that I still find it funny became obvious. Late this year, I resolved not to repeat any entertainment experience in the hopes of broadening my cultural horizons. And it worked...
...for a time. As Chavonne and I discovered hilarious and thrilling shows worth our time and attention ("Criminal Minds" at one point the beneficiary of this), we found ourselves more sensitive to the declining quality of television in general. As we refuse to pay for cable television that we're seldom home to enjoy and our options are limited, we began to say "meh" to the options presented to us. Anymore the only show we never miss is "Castle" and the television is rarely awakened from its slumber unless it's to play games. It's a very nice change and a chance to enjoy more fleeting moments from the curious faces the pups make to the ever-worse jokes Chavonne and I tell to one another. So far, it's been better than anything that's on.
- My one pastime in this world that's endured from childhood to the present is my love of video games. I've always appreciated the opportunity to consider mysterious worlds outside of the sometimes mundane one we inhabit; I always enjoy looking at the world maps in video games and wondering what kind of languages denizens speak or what flora or fauna are left undiscovered in the scope of the game. Games provide an imaginary escape, an opportunity to hear a story, and a sense of accomplishment.
When I was about nineteen, I began to really earnestly collect games that I had played and loved; games I knew had been reviewed highly, the pillars of their genre; and nearly anything in between. At one point, I owned slightly over 500 games which now seems absurd. About 40% of that collection saw a return to the second-hand store from whence they came for various reasons when Chavonne and I were younger, poorer, and more foolish about bills and for various emergency expenses. Over time, I've continued to acquire games with the full expectation and intention of playing them in the indeterminate future.
However, I've also begun to question what's the most responsible way to game. It sounds like a contradiction on its face to consider a sedentary, private, and expensive hobby responsible from any angle; however, games, specifically older generation games, are an endangered species. Of course, blockbusters from the bygone era are now available legally and commercially for owners of any of the three major consoles to consume; but there's something profoundly different about playing a gray and dusty cartridge with jumping and unpredictable pixels in standard definition. The context surrounding the acquisition of a game is sometimes even more important a memory as the game itself. I can remember passing up a trip to attend a family reunion in Cloud Croft, New Mexico and being rewarded for my decision by uncovering a copy of "Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars" for a mere six dollars.
However for many games, once I've completed them, they simply collect dust on the third floor of our home never to be touched again. In a slight fashion, I'm hoping to pass on some of the positive memories I have of finding a long-sought masterpiece to other by beginning to sell back these completed games. It's been surprisingly difficult to part with some ("Twisted Tales of Spike McFang" among them, which I again accidentally discovered one afternoon and let out an involuntary gasp which turned several heads).
I've found that gaming is as much community dissection of finished products as it is the actual content. The zeitgeist that seizes gamers, driving them to hype or deride unseen military simulations to entertainment milestones usually reserved for movie theatres, is itself the context in which games must be refracted and examined. The horizon of expectation burdens every new product, which the masses demand be faster, more efficient, more powerful, more aesthetically beautifully, and energy sensitive while simultaneously being cheaper. So instead of hoarding games in the expectation of spending ten hours a day gaming when I'm somehow wealthy enough to do so, I'm trying to buy far fewer games, sell what games I have beaten to feed back into the acquisition of more games, buy used games, and try to stay apace of the gaming masses.
Complicating this endeavor is the role of digital distribution. The convenience and impulse buying opportunities associated with digital content cannot be overstated and I can't recall the number of times I've purchased a game outside of my established genres or without regard to quality simply because it's possible to play without leaving my couch. At the same time, attempting to be a good steward of resources and ensure that other, younger gamers have the opportunity to share in these experiences is nigh impossible with digital distribution. I cannot trade in a completed game for credit towards another download and I cannot gift the download to another person. It's left my unwavering faith in the truth of a digital future shaken, even the core of the experience is the same.
In the meantime, of course, there are star coins to collect.
I hope that you'll start collecting again; games are such a big part of your life and it's wonderful to see proof of that.
I love how little TV we watch together now. It's so wonderful having quality time with you.