Friday, April 15, 2016


As a child of the late seventies and early eighties, I grew up with the second wave of home videogame systems. One Christmas morning, I entered our family room to discover a fully hooked-up Atari 2600. My parents had left the television on late the night before so that I would walk in on Space Invaders cycling silently through its demonstration mode as the screen changed endless, hideous color combinations. 

Technically, the machine was a moron with a 1.19 MHz CPU, 8-bit microprocessor, and a paltry 128 bytes of RAM that rendered entire cityscapes as featureless, rectilinear clusters, and titanic dragons as goofy, upright ducks. The music and sound effects were equally primitive in their sine-wave melodies, sample-and-hold atmospheres, sawtooth alerts, and white-noise collisions. Ironically, each game came with realistic cover art and an elaborate storyline. The box for Super Breakout showed a stoic astronaut in a jet-propelled suit swinging some kind of space baton to valiantly beat a path through an encroaching force field. When you loaded the game itself, it was pong with a beeping rainbow at one end. 

But these digital rudiments tripped the imaginations of all the neighborhood kids. Those plastic, wallet-sized cartridges opened worlds for us to run, jump, and fly around in, and in some cases compelled us to become obsessive virtuosos in the art of the joystick. I may have embarrassed myself in gym class, but I earned back respect at the console. I recall playing Missile Command for so long without getting killed that I had to quit before my legs permanently fused Indian-style. I went the distance with Megamania: I was in the midst of the flying-hamburgers board when my score hit 999,999 and the program simply froze. Completed the entire Pitfall course―backwards―against the direction of the alligators' chomping jaws.

Since those years, the technology of play has exploded into a virtual cockpit of buttons and functions to learn, so it takes five minutes just to figure out how to make your character stop walking around in a corner, let alone advance through the level.  Compared to the droid-like dexterity of today's gamers, I'm entirely inept. Ataritarded. What's more, graphics have become so vivid that there's nothing left for the mind's eye to do. Too much for the hands and too little for the psyche. A taxing, empty investment.

I retired my controller ages ago to play piano and draw.  

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*The Face Zone is also a live show with music.