Sex, lies and video games
For someone who has always embraced technology, I’m sorely behind in one genre: video games.
When I moved to L.A., I thought I’d get back into the interactive space. I quickly found out most of the agencies out here are attached to the gaming industry. “Do you have any gaming experience?” a freshly pierced 20-something once asked me. I was too embarrassed to reply, “Why yes, Ms. Pac Man at the McLean, Virginia Pizza Hut in 1982.”
My first exposure was actually in 1977. A friend had Pong which I think was put out by Atari. It was the black and white Wimbledon of fake tennis games. After about five minutes, we’d get bored and go outside to play. That’s what kids did back then – we played outside without knee pads, helmets or wrist guards.
Twenty years later, I was working for an interactive development shop. One Friday, the guys asked me to be a player in a networked version of Quake. I didn’t know the rules and never earned the right weapons, so they slaughtered me. I got bored and went home.
Last night I was introduced to Sony’s Play Station 2. I mentioned that I have wanted to see Grand Theft Auto because of all the violence hype. With the controller in hand, I learned to speed, run into trees, steal cop cars, and kill hookers with chain saws. It was fun. I don’t understand why parenting groups are up in arms about this game. When I was young, teen boys just wanted to drive fast and get laid. The author of Grand Theft Auto is just capitalizing on an age-old rite of passage.
After 15 minutes, my adult-onset ADD kicked in and I wanted to do something else, but it was too dark to go outside to play. We ate brownies and watched the cartoon network instead.