Mr.Platypus
07-09-2010, 01:04 AM
I thought some of you might enjoy reading it. It's based on a true story, but it's really exaggerated.
This is a story about sadness and loss. Not the kind of loss that sinks in after something has been taken from you. No my dear reader. I wish I could say that it was, because at least in that case I could claim to have had a taste of it. I speak of something much worse. I am referring to the kind of loss that inhabits the realm of things you never had. A loss that serves as a haunting reminder to all the great things that never came to be. That vast sea of regrets that died before they were ever born, that’s what this story is about.
As if my story could get any worse, I feel compelled to warn you that the subject of loss that I am going to reveal to you is the most precious treasure that can be found on this little planet. Here, I am talking about human potential. Alas! Uncounted years of time and energy have been wasted. My community, robbed, of all the benefits my good nature could have provided for her. The totality of my soul’s investment in this life: Bankrupted. Steel yourself, my dear reader, and plunge on if you think you can manage. I speak of that great corrupter of life’s goodness: Video games.
Let’s be clear now, on what I am not talking about. I am not talking about the shameful wastage of humanity by means of merely playing video games. The evils that accompany that habit are well documented, but not so severe that laws are passed in an effort to abolish them. It is however, indirectly related to the more tragic situation I find myself in. My addiction to playing video games in my youth was only the beginning. It was merely the seed of evil that grew into more horrifying, debilitating forms much later on in my life. It was the gateway drug that had blasted open the very gates to hell. The awful truth, is that I am a collector. Yes, that’s right my dear reader. It pains me to admit this, but I… collect… video games.
You may now be thinking that I must surely be exaggerating, that collecting video games can’t possibly be as bad as I am drawing it out to be. It’s quite understandable if you hold this position, but know, dear reader, that your reaction stems from a deep misunderstanding of the problem, and a failure to appreciate the severity of the situation. Although it is far too late for me to ever hope to lead a normal life again, I shall record my experiences for the benefit of all future generations. It is my only wish, that the medical community should find something of use within the blasted pages of this wasted life.
Please note: From here on in, “Collecting Video Games” will now be referred to simply as “The Habit”
The transition from being a video game player to a video game collector is not inevitable. It is estimated that only 1 in 9000 persons who show interest in playing video games will eventually succumb to ‘The Habit’. The transformation is so incremental that even those closest to the victim will fail to notice any change. And although experts disagree on the exact symptoms required for a conclusive diagnosis, the least controversial definition we have is this:
“A video game ‘player’ becomes a video game ‘collector’ when an individuals’ total time spent acquiring, researching, and otherwise making efforts to amass more video games exceeds the time an individual spends actually playing them” (Trousers, 2004)
This is also known as “Dr. Trousers’ Ratio”. A victim’s deterioration can be measured as their time spent collecting gradually increases and their time spent playing gradually decreases. Three years ago, on October 5th 2003, I had stopped playing video games altogether. I had reached Trousers’ Singularity.
A typical episode:
November 2, 2006. 15:00hrs. I find myself parking my car at the Dell shopping center. I have come here under the pretext of buying groceries from the local Buy Rite, although I am not in any particular need. Making matters more suspicious, is that Buy Rite Foods lies squarely and precisely in the ghetto of Winnepeg. Not only are the colours intolerable and the produce inedible, the far wall houses a bulletin board adorned with Polaroid pictures of known shoplifters. The cashiers are remarkably unattractive, and always eager to determine if your bills are counterfeits. Yes, there is another reason why I am here. It’s because I needed an excuse to enter Value Village next door.
Inventory at Value Village is on a more frequent rotation schedule than any other non-profit or second-hand store I am aware of. That means that if a game shows up here on a Tuesday, if unsold it will be shipped to the Langley store by Monday. I have to search this store at least once a week if I want to stay on top of any games that arrive. The computers and housewares department in the back is the most obvious place to start. Failing that, there is the giant bin of music CD’s to sift through. Unbelievably, the staff at Value Village have shown an almost total inability to discriminate between a music CD and any of the various games on CD format. The differences are both striking and obvious. First of all, thanks to Mortal Kombat and Hillary Clinton, all games sold in North America after 1994 will clearly display their ESRB rating. The Sega CD format is easy to spot, with its distinct and unmistakable aqua-blue colour on their label face. Playstation 1 discs, although employing no standard design label-side, always harbor a curious black underside. There are numerous other methods for distinguishing a video game from a music CD, but they are more nuanced, and not important to the story at hand.
During this particular episode, I find myself scanning the mountainous boxes of board games and jigsaw puzzles. Why Value Village bothers to accept these donations is a complete mystery to me. Being used, there is no guarantee that the box will indeed contain all the necessary pieces, which is a recipe for certain frustration and possibly murder or suicide. In any case, I am scanning the board games and jigsaw puzzles because once again, the employees have shown themselves to be insufficiently subtle enough to tell the difference between ‘Snakes and Ladders’ and ‘Space Quest 4’. I admit the boxes are of a similar size and composition, but it takes no more than a careful glance to discriminate between steaming shit and solid gold.
Ah! I find something. Sandwiched innocently between ‘Candyland’ and some other nonsense, is a boxed copy of Ultima 5: the false Prophet. Perfect condition. No damage. I open the box, quivering in anticipation. I am pleased to discover all 6 disks on 5 ¼ floppies. My God. There’s even a real cloth map and token Moonstone inside. Standard issue in 1979 for the now extinct Ultima series, these goodies would fetch upwards of 200$ on ebay today. I quickly buy it, and morosely purchase some rotten bananas at the Buy Rite next door.
I reach home and carefully engage the locks. Like all rare and beautiful things, my collection is likely at risk of inspiring jealousy. For these reasons, I will not go into detail outlining the exquisite selection of video games I harbor within the walls of my home. No, my dear reader, I will not taunt you with tales of how near-complete my selection of NES titles is, including the illegal and unlicensed submissions from ColourDreams. It would be beyond the habits of a gentleman to go on at length describing my rare and sometimes un-released console gallery. Suffice it to say that it is a glorious and awe-inspiring treat to behold this priceless assemblage of goods, and perhaps when I employ greater security measures within my home, you too, dear reader, will feel the power of its sheer awesomeness.
After some consideration, I find the perfect place for it. There, on top of 2 other copies of Ultima 5: The False Prophet. I place it on top, careful to match the alignment of the others below. I step away, admiring my new addition. I stare at it, knowing full well that I will never open it again. I simply do not have time. Even if I did have the time, there are about 3000 other games that demand my attention. There is absolutely no conceivable way I will ever get to even half of them. Why did I buy this stupid game? What the fuck is wrong with me?
But the truth is, I am perfectly aware of what has happened to me. The pattern never changes. Each time I find some old, dusty game on some dark, forgotten shelf, something strange happens. Some deep, nostalgic hope is awakened, stirring and triggering some ancient memory. A time when I was happy, a time when the whole world was mine for the taking. A time when I was so far in possession of freedom, that I could sit right down and play though Final Fantasy 3. Time was such an inexpensive commodity that I never even had reason to consider it. That was freedom. That’s what I felt in that Box of Ultima 5. Freedom.
Confinement is what I feel when the better part of my senses introduce me to reality. They remind me that I am probably the oldest person in line at EB. The children swarming around me bear some disturbing similarities to myself at their age. I look up and see their parents, irritated and disappointed that their children didn’t grow to be more interested in pursuits that were useful or relevant. And I wonder, do they look at me and see what their children are to become? Did I once see that simultaneous flash of revelation and fear deep within the eyes of one woman, whose young son happened to bear some vague resemblance to myself? Confinement is what I feel when I realize that life’s various duties will forever prohibit me from ever sitting down and seriously begin playing Final Fantasy 3. It is simply not realistic. Perhaps now, dear reader, you understand why it is with a heavy heart that I place each game upon my shelf. I do this sadly and quietly, like a funeral that marks the passing of all the joys of my youth, which I had tragically and ironically wasted, playing video games.
The Habit never sleeps. There is no remission. Each day I wake up unsatisfied and feeling that unhappy need for more. The cost of my habit is really too embarrassing to relate to you my dear reader, but suffice it to say that it has driven me towards engaging in the most unfavorable occupations.
I have also consequently grown well acquainted with every second hand thrift store, bargain basement, used electronics depot, and every other hovel that might possibly be holding captive the next addition to my collection. I know them all from here to as far as it is economical to continue searching. I have rated each location in terms of quality and likelihood of success. Value Village for example, has generally high quality stock perhaps because they don’t want their store to begin looking like an unsightly junk pile. There are however, second hand stores with no such high standards. Some bear a remarkable resemblance to illegal dumps of garbage quickly thrown into a back alley when no one’s looking. The worst offender is without a doubt, Habib’s Battered Women’s Thrift Store. Ah, that God-forsaken wasteland. A more uncomfortable shopping experience is not likely to be found in this lifetime my dear friends. Although the horrors of Habib’s are indeed great, you may find some value within my experiences there. The whole of humanity may be in the position to learn a few things about how civilizations turn terribly wrong. The evils I am about to describe to you will seem beyond your ability to rationally tolerate. Do not be afraid, my dear friends, but have courage, because this is where my story really begins.
This is a story about sadness and loss. Not the kind of loss that sinks in after something has been taken from you. No my dear reader. I wish I could say that it was, because at least in that case I could claim to have had a taste of it. I speak of something much worse. I am referring to the kind of loss that inhabits the realm of things you never had. A loss that serves as a haunting reminder to all the great things that never came to be. That vast sea of regrets that died before they were ever born, that’s what this story is about.
As if my story could get any worse, I feel compelled to warn you that the subject of loss that I am going to reveal to you is the most precious treasure that can be found on this little planet. Here, I am talking about human potential. Alas! Uncounted years of time and energy have been wasted. My community, robbed, of all the benefits my good nature could have provided for her. The totality of my soul’s investment in this life: Bankrupted. Steel yourself, my dear reader, and plunge on if you think you can manage. I speak of that great corrupter of life’s goodness: Video games.
Let’s be clear now, on what I am not talking about. I am not talking about the shameful wastage of humanity by means of merely playing video games. The evils that accompany that habit are well documented, but not so severe that laws are passed in an effort to abolish them. It is however, indirectly related to the more tragic situation I find myself in. My addiction to playing video games in my youth was only the beginning. It was merely the seed of evil that grew into more horrifying, debilitating forms much later on in my life. It was the gateway drug that had blasted open the very gates to hell. The awful truth, is that I am a collector. Yes, that’s right my dear reader. It pains me to admit this, but I… collect… video games.
You may now be thinking that I must surely be exaggerating, that collecting video games can’t possibly be as bad as I am drawing it out to be. It’s quite understandable if you hold this position, but know, dear reader, that your reaction stems from a deep misunderstanding of the problem, and a failure to appreciate the severity of the situation. Although it is far too late for me to ever hope to lead a normal life again, I shall record my experiences for the benefit of all future generations. It is my only wish, that the medical community should find something of use within the blasted pages of this wasted life.
Please note: From here on in, “Collecting Video Games” will now be referred to simply as “The Habit”
The transition from being a video game player to a video game collector is not inevitable. It is estimated that only 1 in 9000 persons who show interest in playing video games will eventually succumb to ‘The Habit’. The transformation is so incremental that even those closest to the victim will fail to notice any change. And although experts disagree on the exact symptoms required for a conclusive diagnosis, the least controversial definition we have is this:
“A video game ‘player’ becomes a video game ‘collector’ when an individuals’ total time spent acquiring, researching, and otherwise making efforts to amass more video games exceeds the time an individual spends actually playing them” (Trousers, 2004)
This is also known as “Dr. Trousers’ Ratio”. A victim’s deterioration can be measured as their time spent collecting gradually increases and their time spent playing gradually decreases. Three years ago, on October 5th 2003, I had stopped playing video games altogether. I had reached Trousers’ Singularity.
A typical episode:
November 2, 2006. 15:00hrs. I find myself parking my car at the Dell shopping center. I have come here under the pretext of buying groceries from the local Buy Rite, although I am not in any particular need. Making matters more suspicious, is that Buy Rite Foods lies squarely and precisely in the ghetto of Winnepeg. Not only are the colours intolerable and the produce inedible, the far wall houses a bulletin board adorned with Polaroid pictures of known shoplifters. The cashiers are remarkably unattractive, and always eager to determine if your bills are counterfeits. Yes, there is another reason why I am here. It’s because I needed an excuse to enter Value Village next door.
Inventory at Value Village is on a more frequent rotation schedule than any other non-profit or second-hand store I am aware of. That means that if a game shows up here on a Tuesday, if unsold it will be shipped to the Langley store by Monday. I have to search this store at least once a week if I want to stay on top of any games that arrive. The computers and housewares department in the back is the most obvious place to start. Failing that, there is the giant bin of music CD’s to sift through. Unbelievably, the staff at Value Village have shown an almost total inability to discriminate between a music CD and any of the various games on CD format. The differences are both striking and obvious. First of all, thanks to Mortal Kombat and Hillary Clinton, all games sold in North America after 1994 will clearly display their ESRB rating. The Sega CD format is easy to spot, with its distinct and unmistakable aqua-blue colour on their label face. Playstation 1 discs, although employing no standard design label-side, always harbor a curious black underside. There are numerous other methods for distinguishing a video game from a music CD, but they are more nuanced, and not important to the story at hand.
During this particular episode, I find myself scanning the mountainous boxes of board games and jigsaw puzzles. Why Value Village bothers to accept these donations is a complete mystery to me. Being used, there is no guarantee that the box will indeed contain all the necessary pieces, which is a recipe for certain frustration and possibly murder or suicide. In any case, I am scanning the board games and jigsaw puzzles because once again, the employees have shown themselves to be insufficiently subtle enough to tell the difference between ‘Snakes and Ladders’ and ‘Space Quest 4’. I admit the boxes are of a similar size and composition, but it takes no more than a careful glance to discriminate between steaming shit and solid gold.
Ah! I find something. Sandwiched innocently between ‘Candyland’ and some other nonsense, is a boxed copy of Ultima 5: the false Prophet. Perfect condition. No damage. I open the box, quivering in anticipation. I am pleased to discover all 6 disks on 5 ¼ floppies. My God. There’s even a real cloth map and token Moonstone inside. Standard issue in 1979 for the now extinct Ultima series, these goodies would fetch upwards of 200$ on ebay today. I quickly buy it, and morosely purchase some rotten bananas at the Buy Rite next door.
I reach home and carefully engage the locks. Like all rare and beautiful things, my collection is likely at risk of inspiring jealousy. For these reasons, I will not go into detail outlining the exquisite selection of video games I harbor within the walls of my home. No, my dear reader, I will not taunt you with tales of how near-complete my selection of NES titles is, including the illegal and unlicensed submissions from ColourDreams. It would be beyond the habits of a gentleman to go on at length describing my rare and sometimes un-released console gallery. Suffice it to say that it is a glorious and awe-inspiring treat to behold this priceless assemblage of goods, and perhaps when I employ greater security measures within my home, you too, dear reader, will feel the power of its sheer awesomeness.
After some consideration, I find the perfect place for it. There, on top of 2 other copies of Ultima 5: The False Prophet. I place it on top, careful to match the alignment of the others below. I step away, admiring my new addition. I stare at it, knowing full well that I will never open it again. I simply do not have time. Even if I did have the time, there are about 3000 other games that demand my attention. There is absolutely no conceivable way I will ever get to even half of them. Why did I buy this stupid game? What the fuck is wrong with me?
But the truth is, I am perfectly aware of what has happened to me. The pattern never changes. Each time I find some old, dusty game on some dark, forgotten shelf, something strange happens. Some deep, nostalgic hope is awakened, stirring and triggering some ancient memory. A time when I was happy, a time when the whole world was mine for the taking. A time when I was so far in possession of freedom, that I could sit right down and play though Final Fantasy 3. Time was such an inexpensive commodity that I never even had reason to consider it. That was freedom. That’s what I felt in that Box of Ultima 5. Freedom.
Confinement is what I feel when the better part of my senses introduce me to reality. They remind me that I am probably the oldest person in line at EB. The children swarming around me bear some disturbing similarities to myself at their age. I look up and see their parents, irritated and disappointed that their children didn’t grow to be more interested in pursuits that were useful or relevant. And I wonder, do they look at me and see what their children are to become? Did I once see that simultaneous flash of revelation and fear deep within the eyes of one woman, whose young son happened to bear some vague resemblance to myself? Confinement is what I feel when I realize that life’s various duties will forever prohibit me from ever sitting down and seriously begin playing Final Fantasy 3. It is simply not realistic. Perhaps now, dear reader, you understand why it is with a heavy heart that I place each game upon my shelf. I do this sadly and quietly, like a funeral that marks the passing of all the joys of my youth, which I had tragically and ironically wasted, playing video games.
The Habit never sleeps. There is no remission. Each day I wake up unsatisfied and feeling that unhappy need for more. The cost of my habit is really too embarrassing to relate to you my dear reader, but suffice it to say that it has driven me towards engaging in the most unfavorable occupations.
I have also consequently grown well acquainted with every second hand thrift store, bargain basement, used electronics depot, and every other hovel that might possibly be holding captive the next addition to my collection. I know them all from here to as far as it is economical to continue searching. I have rated each location in terms of quality and likelihood of success. Value Village for example, has generally high quality stock perhaps because they don’t want their store to begin looking like an unsightly junk pile. There are however, second hand stores with no such high standards. Some bear a remarkable resemblance to illegal dumps of garbage quickly thrown into a back alley when no one’s looking. The worst offender is without a doubt, Habib’s Battered Women’s Thrift Store. Ah, that God-forsaken wasteland. A more uncomfortable shopping experience is not likely to be found in this lifetime my dear friends. Although the horrors of Habib’s are indeed great, you may find some value within my experiences there. The whole of humanity may be in the position to learn a few things about how civilizations turn terribly wrong. The evils I am about to describe to you will seem beyond your ability to rationally tolerate. Do not be afraid, my dear friends, but have courage, because this is where my story really begins.