Games: The Addiction
I arrived home on Friday evening with the intention of making it just a brief stop before I went out to watch a film. Feeling too tired to do so (in retrospect, probably partly because of the timing of my pills), I instead stayed in, and did a bit of light computer gaming before turning in for a relatively early night.
On Saturday, I was supposed to wake up at 4.30am in order to get a coach to Bolton to protest against the crypto-fascist English Defence League. Instead I woke up at 2pm, and by the time I'd remembered that I had a back-up plan (a 4.30am start had always been an unlikely ambition), a 4pm film ticket, it was too late for me to go. Instead I did a rather heavier session of computer gaming. I thought about going to the supermarket for supplies, but decided I could do so on the morrow.
This morning, I woke up at around 11am, and decided to do some more computer gaming. I thought about going to the supermarket for supplies, but decided I could do so on my way home from work tomorrow. I did stop playing the computer game when I accidentally closed the window (idiot that I am), and decided to read the day's articles in The Observer.
One of them was this endlessly fascinating piece by a chap called Tom Bissell - "Video games: the addiction" - which I read avidly from start to finish. It documents his years spent ignoring his early acclaim as a writer in favour of taking cocaine and playing Grand Theft Auto on his four X-box 360s. Sadly, I've never taken cocaine - never so much as seen any - though from what I hear it's quite nice. But it's almost ironic that while he's apparently managed to stay clean of the coke for some time, he hasn't kicked the games. Of course, you may say that it's easier to be open about a gaming addiction than about a cocaine addiction, but you're ignoring the fact that a cocaine addict will receive sympathy and support whereas a gaming addict will receive little but vaguely disgusted contempt. Tell someone, "I'm a recovering cocaine addict - it nearly destroyed my life but I'm trying to turn myself around" and you'll be an adorable, resilient little fighter; tell them, "I'm a recovering gaming addict - it nearly destroyed my life but I'm trying to turn myself around" and you'll be a lazy, good-fer-nothing ne'er-do-well.
What is it that I think makes gaming so addictive? (And what you may have realised by now, if you know me, is that I'm talking about board gaming as much as I am about video gaming.) It is, after all, socially unattractive - to the point where a potential paramour once had to ask me to refer to it euphemistically as "Latin dancing" when I was saying what I'd been up to, on the grounds that it made me sound less dorky - and generally considered childish (a point that Bissell elaborates on in his article). The most sensible explanation I've read is that it is an answer to the brutality and chaos of life: a world in which our efforts have concrete, predictable results, in which ability is visibly rewarded and even when it is not, the element of chance is explicit and obvious - but in which there is nothing tangible at stake, and if and when we fail we can simply restart or even decide not to play any more, all with no consequences. It's my old theory of Activity Narcosis from a new perspective. [For more on Activity Narcosis, see my LJ entry of June 17th 2009.] So, does this make my new-found enthusiasm for video gaming a sort of methadone to take me through my board gaming cold turkey? Probably, yes. I do look at my board games sometimes with the same mixture of longing and loathing that I feel when I look at a multipack of Red Bull or a packet of codeine. Fortunately, board games require two people to play, so I'm unable to indulge even if I felt unable not to. Unless I play Dominion against the Envoy robot ... AARGH!!!
On Saturday, I was supposed to wake up at 4.30am in order to get a coach to Bolton to protest against the crypto-fascist English Defence League. Instead I woke up at 2pm, and by the time I'd remembered that I had a back-up plan (a 4.30am start had always been an unlikely ambition), a 4pm film ticket, it was too late for me to go. Instead I did a rather heavier session of computer gaming. I thought about going to the supermarket for supplies, but decided I could do so on the morrow.
This morning, I woke up at around 11am, and decided to do some more computer gaming. I thought about going to the supermarket for supplies, but decided I could do so on my way home from work tomorrow. I did stop playing the computer game when I accidentally closed the window (idiot that I am), and decided to read the day's articles in The Observer.
One of them was this endlessly fascinating piece by a chap called Tom Bissell - "Video games: the addiction" - which I read avidly from start to finish. It documents his years spent ignoring his early acclaim as a writer in favour of taking cocaine and playing Grand Theft Auto on his four X-box 360s. Sadly, I've never taken cocaine - never so much as seen any - though from what I hear it's quite nice. But it's almost ironic that while he's apparently managed to stay clean of the coke for some time, he hasn't kicked the games. Of course, you may say that it's easier to be open about a gaming addiction than about a cocaine addiction, but you're ignoring the fact that a cocaine addict will receive sympathy and support whereas a gaming addict will receive little but vaguely disgusted contempt. Tell someone, "I'm a recovering cocaine addict - it nearly destroyed my life but I'm trying to turn myself around" and you'll be an adorable, resilient little fighter; tell them, "I'm a recovering gaming addict - it nearly destroyed my life but I'm trying to turn myself around" and you'll be a lazy, good-fer-nothing ne'er-do-well.
What is it that I think makes gaming so addictive? (And what you may have realised by now, if you know me, is that I'm talking about board gaming as much as I am about video gaming.) It is, after all, socially unattractive - to the point where a potential paramour once had to ask me to refer to it euphemistically as "Latin dancing" when I was saying what I'd been up to, on the grounds that it made me sound less dorky - and generally considered childish (a point that Bissell elaborates on in his article). The most sensible explanation I've read is that it is an answer to the brutality and chaos of life: a world in which our efforts have concrete, predictable results, in which ability is visibly rewarded and even when it is not, the element of chance is explicit and obvious - but in which there is nothing tangible at stake, and if and when we fail we can simply restart or even decide not to play any more, all with no consequences. It's my old theory of Activity Narcosis from a new perspective. [For more on Activity Narcosis, see my LJ entry of June 17th 2009.] So, does this make my new-found enthusiasm for video gaming a sort of methadone to take me through my board gaming cold turkey? Probably, yes. I do look at my board games sometimes with the same mixture of longing and loathing that I feel when I look at a multipack of Red Bull or a packet of codeine. Fortunately, board games require two people to play, so I'm unable to indulge even if I felt unable not to. Unless I play Dominion against the Envoy robot ... AARGH!!!